


Blue

by thegayestfairy



Category: A Streetcar Named Desire - Tennessee Williams, Original Work
Genre: Bad Poetry, F/M, I'm Sorry, If You Squint - Freeform, Inspired by Poetry, Nothing explicit, Unrequited Love, Which is saying something, all the warnings are implied/referenced, but her neediness is very present, it's Blanche Dubois
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-19 06:09:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14231007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegayestfairy/pseuds/thegayestfairy
Summary: It was supposed to be short and sweet, but instead, it was short and sharp and it hurts.





	Blue

Blue

 

You never thought it would be a relief to wake in an empty bed, the sheets cold beneath your numb fingers. Insecurities are written in white on the walls, are they yours or hers?

 

Light filters through the curtains, casting the room in a blue shadow. The cacophony of life drifts through the open window, cars, people, birds, muffled and distant. You have been disconnected from the world.

 

There is blood under your fingernails, you are certain she has burnt her touch into your skin. You sit up and the sheets fall away, white and a cracked coppery brown.

 

Standing on sore legs, the world is spinning around you. Turning, turning you feel sick again. You walk across a broken plate to the bathroom. The door is shut; you have to force it open.

 

The bathroom smells of her perfume, whispers of jasmine and

_Please. Love me, don’t let me go._

You wonder if she will ever let you go, or if you will be forever haunted by those too-wide, innocent eyes.

 

You try not to look behind you, try to stay in the present as your thoughts flicker through time, you try to fill your head with bathing. Hot or cold? Which one will pull you from this dream-like state? You want to feel again, but as you sink into the icy water, you find yourself feeling emptier than before.

 

The soap is the same colour as her lipstick, rose petal pink, you leave it on the side and use your nails to scratch off the memories.

 

Your skin is red, cold and clean. You pull the plug out and watch the water spiral away as you shiver.

 

Get out and move on. Thinking of nothing, you stare at the tiled floor. Carmine, it sticks to your feet and follows you into the bedroom.

_I think we should just be friends._

She looks younger when she’s crying. You wonder if she would take that as a compliment. She was always so sensitive about her age.

 

You pull open the curtains, grass, people, buildings, cars. The multitude of colours is too much and you draw the curtains, again soaking everything in blue.

 

_May I kiss you?_

She’s pleading and begging, as she pulls you closer, and you can taste the wine on her lips, bitter and intoxicating. You can’t move.

 

Snap back. Focus. What next? What should you do? Get dressed. Is there anything you can do? Panic.

 

She doesn’t scream. She just whimpers, her eyes, those God damned eyes, are glazed with disbelief. She moves off you, breathes a

_Sorry, please. I’m sorry._

Then stumbles into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. You don’t move, you just sit there feeling the blood on your hands, on your skin, it’s everywhere, you’re drowning in it. You are dimly aware of a dull thud from the bathroom and you wonder if it is over.

 

It isn’t over. It won’t ever be over until you are dead. You have a choice, knife or phone. The knife is the easy option; the phone opens up more questions. But that is life, it’s just a series of unanswered questions.

 

Love confuses you the most, so fleeting and so powerful, a starry night and a simple confession,

_You are the only person who loves me._

It was the truth, you wanted to tell her otherwise, but it wouldn’t make any difference. She was alone in the world, and though you wanted to hold on to her you found yourself drifting. After all, there is more to the world than sex and jasmine perfume.

Her eyes are empty; they stare right through you. Stumbling back, hands desperately running through your hair. You want to scream until your throat bleeds. She looks peaceful, hope. Hope was written on her heart, forever hopeful. Now it had stopped beating, you had stopped it beating.

One decision, one path. Maybe there were more, either way, it would end with a knife or a phone call. What would she want? So very, very insecure. So lost. Stay with me. Do you owe her? Did she destroy you or did you destroy yourself? She made the first move, but you held the knife.

_I’m sorry. Stay here. He loves me. Please. He loves me not. Kiss me. I love you._

You pick up the phone. You will pay for what you did, but not with your life.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it, if not let me know!  
> Constructive criticism is welcome.
> 
> Want to know more?  
> Find me on tumblr  
> https://flowithpoe.tumblr.com/


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